


Wrong Doers

by CestPasDuBaudelaire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Corporal Punishment, Detention, Homophobia, Humiliation, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Young Albus Dumbledore, Young Gellert Grindelwald, but some tenderness too I promise, like very slow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26648386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CestPasDuBaudelaire/pseuds/CestPasDuBaudelaire
Summary: His greatest secret. His darkest shame.And now everybody knows it.He was sick, and his mother plans to cure him by any means possible. The Wizarding Center for Deviance Recovery was her solution. One summer was all it would take to remove Albus from his deviant ways and transform him into the proper man he was always meant to be. However, in the midst of this suffocating prison, surrounded by fear and humiliation, Albus may just find unexpected solace in his sorrow in the dangerous yet haunting Gellert Grindlewald.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	1. Prologue

**WRONGDOERS**

**Prologue**

Albus cried the day he was taken away. He begged a little, too. But he cried a lot more. His mother cried, too, although in retrospect, he would feel no sympathy for her. His brother remained silent. In a corner of the kitchen. His face low and ashamed. Unable to stand the sight. And, again, Albus would not be moved by it. His brother was far from innocent. He was the one who started it all.

The incident had occurred on the first day of Albus' last childhood vacation. He had just finished his sixth year, and he had two months of absolute freedom before he left for his final run at Hogwarts, and then to start his glorious adult life. But on that day, he had just returned from the station, and was planning to let the days run tenderly until they ran out. And everything had gone wrong that evening. Albus hadn't even unpacked his suitcase. At first, the argument had taken on an innocuous aspect. Kendra had just received Aberforth's disastrous report card and had spent the meal lecturing him furiously. Aberforth, in the midst of his rebellion, had tried to defend himself with the aggression and bad faith of his age. When Kendra had compared him to his elder, he had lost all sense of proportion, starting to shout that he was fed up with being compared to this pretentious idiot. Albus, slightly outside of this whole conversation, had mechanically replied that he wasn't the one with the notes of an idiot. The anger of the youngest had slipped from mother to brother, and the two young men had escalated far too far up the dispute that seemed to be about to come to blows. Until Aberforth put a final end to it, with all the brilliance of his fury.

"Yes, well, at least I don't secretly snog boys!”

The sentence had resounded. Silence had fallen. Dense and suffocating. The world had just stopped living. Slowly, Albus had turned his face towards his mother. Horrified. Praying that she had heard nothing. His mother had looked back at him. And he had seen in her eyes that she expected him to say something, to deny and to refute. He hadn't. He would have wanted to. He would have given anything to do it. But he found himself unable to speak. He had been pierced by the incomprehension, fear and anger that he was gradually seeing in his mother's eyes. He had felt an immense weight come to embrace his heart and crush it under pressure. He had opened his mouth. To justify himself. To erase. To lie. To take the devastation and betrayal out of his mother's eyes. He had opened his mouth. And he had thrown up. On the kitchen table. Afterwards, it was all a blur, but Albus remembered he'd been on the beach at Godric's Hollow, moments later, under the cover of the creek. He must have been running away. He had collapsed on the sand and wished that the water would cover him until there was nothing left of him. Until the world couldn't see him and he couldn't see himself. Unfortunately, as so often, life had not gone his way, and the morning had found him on the bank, still clearly visible, and his future still in ruins.

The days that followed had been laborious. Albus had done all he could to avoid his mother, so as not to add to her disgust and sorrow. He had tried to act as if nothing had happened, but he had heard his mother crying every time he wasn't in the room, and he had decided to stop hurting her. Or hurting himself, he wasn't sure. He had adopted the habit of leaving home in the morning before dawn and returning in the evening at the latest hour. The rest of the day he would hang out in the village, on the beach, or in the surrounding countryside. For lunch he would eat at Bathilda's, but not any other meal than this one, as his last desire was to share the details of his situation with anyone. Sometimes he had seen Aberforth from afar, but Aberforth had always looked away when he saw him. Apparently particularly guilty. He obviously hadn't meant to hurt his brother. Or at least he had, but not in that way. But the damage had been done. He had just told their mother there was a second sick child in the Dumbledore home.

Albus had spent five days like that. And he'd bitterly imagined that this was how he would spend his last summer's vacation. On the afternoon of the sixth day, when his mother would normally sell her extra vegetables at the market, he had decided to take the risk of going home to get something to eat to complete his only meal of the day. It was the wrong decision; he had understood this when he saw his mother in his room. She seemed to be going through his things. At first Albus had thought she was looking for evidence of what Aberforth had announced. That she couldn't believe her son could be... _like that_. But Albus was soon devastated when he saw her put two of his shirts in his Hogwarts suitcase. He had asked her immediately, although his brain, too bright for his own good, had already drawn the right conclusions.

"Mother, what are you doing?”

“Packing for you, Albus.”

“W-Why? To go where?”

“To a place with people who can help you.”

Albus had immediately stepped forward and stood between his mother and his suitcase, as if that had prevented anything.

"But... But mother... No!”

“I know it's frightening, my darling. But it's for your own good! There's this center in France, in a place called Isère, they can help you. They know how to handle people like that...”

“Mother... Mother!”

He had grabbed her hands, to prevent her from putting yet another garment in his suitcase.

"Mother... Listen to me... I... I don't want to go there! I don't need to be handled!”

“Oh, my son...

Kendra had let go of the pants she had just folded to tenderly caress her son's face with her two hands, tears in her eyes.

"My baby, you're sick. I know it's not your fault. It is not. You're a good boy, I know that! But you need help. And there's nothing I can do for you when you're _like this_. We need these people. They know more. They can fix everything. Two months in that center. That's all it takes. Two months and everything will be all right. Two months, and you'll be fixed up, you will be the right way. You'll be the boy I raised and always loved again, Albus.”

"Mother... Mother, please... I don't want to go... I don't... I don't want to... I don't want to go. Please, Mother. I promise I'll be good. I promise I'll make everything all right again. Please, I don't want to go.”

But Kendra had kept packing. Five minutes later, they had both sat down at the living room table and cried as they waited for the departure to take place. When, an hour later, the man came to pick him up, Albus had begged one last time.

"Don't let them take me away..."”

Kendra had buried her head in her hands, Aberforth had closed his eyes and clenched his fists. And Albus had been taken away.


	2. Sorted By Deviancies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens!
> 
> There's the first chapter of my new fanfiction. I guessed I would give you a bit more than just the prologue to find out what it's all about. Hope you'll like it.
> 
> About the tags I put, they are "slow burn" too. They will come, but it can take so time. We're in for a long run.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will have as much fun reading it than I had writing it. Enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

**Sorted by Deviancies**

“Let’s talk a bit about you, Albus.”

They were now flying over the Isère region. Sheltered by a carriage pulled by Abraxan, Albus could see the immense valley with high trees stretching as far as the eye could see. Wedged between two alpine peaks, the Vercors Massif, a vast and sinuous territory of lakes, rocks, plains and forests, seemed almost abandoned, seen from so high up. The real master of the place was much more nature than man.

"You're not very talkative.”

Albus hadn't breathe a word the whole trip. The man had tried to talk to him, to ask him questions, in a kind and affable tone, but the young man had preferred to look out the window, his eyes wide open to stop himself from crying.

"I had the opportunity to talk a little with your mother. A lovely woman. You're lucky to have her. She genuinely cares about you, you know?”

The Abraxans were spreading their huge white wings under the afternoon sun, but Albus could see that they were slowly beginning their descent. They seemed to be heading towards the Cirque of Choranche.

"You must surely miss her. I can imagine. But you'll see her again, you know. Just a couple of months. And your life will go back to the way it was.”

The mountains that formed the cirque offered their grey and rocky sides to the world. Embedded in the rocks of Presles, which themselves were more than 300 meters high, they dominated the surrounding area without difficulty. The landscape was breathtaking, and it was easy to imagine all the beauty lurking in the lands below, but Albus had only one opinion about this place: it would be impossible to escape without magic. The rocks were too steep, the forest too dense, and the civilization too far away. The only solution, should he escape, would be Apparition. Albus had only done it once or twice, by accident, when he was still a baby. He didn't know if he had the ability to do it again safely, if he hadn't been trained beforehand. But even if he did, if he could do it, where would he go? He had no family other than his mother, and she had done nothing when he begged.

"Well, you may need several summers here. Your mom can always send you to us next year. We will have you with pleasure.”

“I'll be an adult.”

The man looked surprised to hear the boy's voice, who had remained so silent until now.

"Pardon?”

“Next summer. I'll be an adult. And then I'll leave and never come back.”

The man smiled. The kind of benevolent smile that over-aged souls have when faced with childhood dreams.

"We're here." finally announced the man.

And, indeed, the Abraxans glided gently through the air, until they landed on the crest of one of the sides of the cirque. The landing was eventful, the large horses having the greatest difficulty in maneuvering through such dense forest. When they finally stopped, the man opened the door of the carriage, got out without difficulty and reached out to help Albus. Albus ignored him and fell silently to the ground. The grass was high and bushy, still untouched by the early summer. Bourgeoning after a mild spring, the trees filled the air with a thick scent of nature, earth and water.

The young man gestured towards his suitcase, but the adult walked ahead of him and took it with a smile.

"Don't worry, I'll carry it.”

Albus didn't answer. The less he talked, the better he was doing. He felt like his stomach was about to give back all of it content at any moment. Free of his suitcase, he kept his arms close to his chest, as if that would protect him from the rest of the world. His nervous fingers clutched his shirt, desperate for some comfort, no matter how trivial the form. The Abraxans flew away, taking the carriage with them, and the man and the boy found themselves alone. They walked away from the edge of the cliff and started to go into the forest, but they didn't have to walk long. In less than five minutes they reached their destination.

The place itself didn't make any lasting impression. High wooden palisades, almost as high as the trees, stood for several dozen meters and disappeared into the vegetation. In front of Albus was a large wooden barricade that seemed to slide down to allow access to the inside of the protected place. But, closed, it was an effective way to prevent any untimely exit. Of course, Albus could blow it down with a wave of his hand, but the whole thing looked sinister and disturbing. The boy tightened his arms around himself a bit further.

Slowly, in a gloomy and resounding crack, the barricade slipped heavily.

"Welcome to the Wizarding Center for Deviance Recovery, Albus.”

The place was less crude than the entrance had suggested, although it was far from the comfort of civilization. A wooden village stretched all around the boy. One- and two-storey houses, perched on stilts, stood on either side of narrow dirt roads. The uneven levelling of the land gave the whole thing an uneven appearance - the ground was hollowed out by footprints and the erosion of more stagnant water. The construction of the buildings themselves was crude, though large. Some places even seemed to easily exceed 20 meters in length. Albus could hear shouts in the distance, which seemed to come from a relatively large group, but no one was visible outside, as the sun was just beginning to fade.

The man gave the boy a few moments to look around before gently guiding him to one of the buildings at the entrance, which was not only one of the most opulent, but also the only one with a stone foundation that allowed it to rise three stories. The entrance to the building consisted of a simple corridor, rather wide for its relative emptiness, only furnished with a wooden bench against one of the walls. Two doors led to unknown rooms while a narrow staircase disappeared in the darkness of the second floor. The man, after effortlessly lifting the suitcase, walked to one of the doors and knocked. He waited a few moments for a muffled voice to give him permission, and he entered, beckoning Albus to follow him.

The boy entered what seemed to be a rather modest office. Devoid of any decoration, only two cupboards and a desk served as furnishings. Apart from the owner's desk’s one, no other chairs were visible, and Albus stood awkwardly on his legs, not knowing what to do with himself. Above the door a crucifix was on display, highlighted by the emptiness around it.

The aforementioned owner raised his head. Albus guessed that this was the director of the center, and yet he was an astonishingly young person. Either in his late thirties or in his early forties, he was a man in his prime. Straight, strong, with blue eyes, brown hair, and fine features, he was particularly attractive. He had an easy smile and a farsighted look, but when he broke into a welcoming face when he saw the newcomers, Albus could immediately sense a semblance of danger and a tinge of cruelty lurking behind the beauty of that face. The boy shuddered at the mere sight. He knew full well that he had to run away, and yet he felt a burning desire to stay and hear what the man had to say and see what he had to do.

"Good evening, Mr. Dumbledore. We're delighted to have you with us. I'm the director Orpheus Scheiddeger."

The man, Scheiddeger it seems, had a soft, whispering voice with a slight Germanic accent, although Albus couldn't tell where it came from, between Germany, Austria, Switzerland, or even some countries further east.

"Your mother contacted us yesterday. Normally, inscriptions are made in advance, but given the severity of your case, we decided to make an exception in the form of a gesture of kindness. We had a place for someone in your situation, so consider yourself welcome here this summer. The Wizarding Center for Deviance Recovery, which I founded six years ago, welcomes all children in Europe who have behavioural or moral problems. It is an institution with a Christian tendency whose mission is to resolve these disorders and to straighten up these behaviours or morals. The range of what we are able to treat here is relatively wide, but all of them are curable, and their origins invariably go back to faults in the educational process.

“Thus, here we use strict and uncompromising discipline, both physical and emotional, in order to forcefully change the sick curve of child development. Rest assured, I have no doubt that you will come out of here completely cured and rehabilitated as a decent citizen.”

Scheiddeger offered an encouraging and benevolent smile, even giving himself a knowing wink, and Albus wanted to believe it, but the tenor of the speech was devouring him with anguish, so he just swallowed. When the director realized that he would have no further reaction, he went on.

"Henery, we're going to search the suitcase now.

\- Yes, Mr. Schneiddeger. "

The man who had accompanied Albus took a step forward and put the suitcase on the desk. Orpheus gently put a warm hand on the boy's shoulder to move him a few steps away and give his colleague the space he needed. As the contents of his mother's luggage were reviewed, Albus was again taken aside by the director.

"As for you, Albus, your education among us will be particularly focused on regaining your manhood. Your mother told me that your father left home when you were ten years old. It's very unfortunate, I feel sorry for you, my boy, truly. But it's a common occurrence. Boys who grow up without fathers have a much greater chance of developing sexual perversions. It has to do with the fact that they have only a woman as a parental role model. Since children learn largely through mimicry, it is not surprising that some boys end up with feminized, and therefore disturbed, sexualities. Our role here will be to show you what it is like to be a real man, and to force in you the behaviours that will lead you on the right path, while punishing those who take you away from it. In other words, as much by mimicry as by punitive and gratifying reinforcements, our goal is to make you abandon all effeminate behavior to adopt in opposition virile behaviors.”

“Just some clothes, a few books, some writing materials, and his wand, in this suitcase, sir.”

“Good, then you may seal it.”

In front of Albus' worried and visibly protesting air, the director immediately made a gesture of appeasement, accompanied by a reassuring smile.

"Don't worry, you don't need what's in that suitcase. The Centre provides uniforms. For the books, for the people suffering from your deviancy, it's not happening again. We have noticed, especially in girls, but sometimes in boys as well, a correlation between the level of education and the development of homosexual perversions. It's all very well to be educated, but until we give you the weapons to oppose the evils that this knowledge can inflict on you, we're going to put a stop to this thirst for learning. As for your wand, I'll keep it safe, you can retrieve it at the end of the summer.”

Albus remained utterly helpless as Henery gave his precious wand to Orpheus who made it disappear in his pocket. Of course, the boy was a genius and more than capable of doing magic without his trusty tool, but his wand had always reassured him, and he felt a deep affection for this ridiculous piece of wood. Seeing his most faithful companion disappear into the man's pocket brought tears to his eyes, but he quickly chased them away. He knew that he was being watched and that he had to remain as opaque as possible. Tears were surely not to be seen as the most manly of behaviors. So he restrained himself. Yet his heart had just cowered under the weight of his anguish and loneliness.

"Shall I get a uniform, Mr. Scheiddeger?”

“Do so, Henery."

Henery closed the suitcase and took it outside, probably to lock it up. Orpheus, on the other hand, walked around the desk and sat in his chair, from which he detailed Albus carefully.

"Tell me, my boy, when did this behavior begin in you?”

Albus lowered his eyes, keeping them firmly fixed on his feet, his mouth resolutely closed.

"Well, if you don't want to talk about it, that's your choice.”

The young man felt he could breathe a little more freely, but this feeling did not last.

"Only today, however. To celebrate your arrival. For from tomorrow, any act of defiance will be severely punished, as you will soon learn. »

Albus swallowed but stood still. He would have given anything to be somewhere else. Maybe he could run away tonight? Unfortunately, his dreams came to a quick end.

"Until Henery comes, you can come closer, please?”

Albus moved closer until his path was blocked by the office. Orpheus leaned forward and, grabbing his arm, closed a strange metal bracelet around the free wrist.

“It's a bracelet of localization," the director explained.

Albus approached his wrist to observe the jewel. It was a simple circle of polished metal, engraved with many intertwining runes.

"This bracelet can locate you at any time, so any attempt to evade your treatment would be doomed to failure.”

That was a lie. Albus could read runes like others English. But according to what was written on the bracelet, this artifact required the use of magic to function. Thus, whenever Albus would do a spell, the director would be warned immediately, both about the author and the nature or position of the magic act. But, if Albus did not cast any spells, then this bracelet remained a simple metal circle. But that didn't change anything. If he couldn't use magic, he had no chance of surviving in the Vercors Massif. Not long enough to reach civilization, and not quietly enough to not get caught. And as he deciphered the protective runes that kept him from getting rid of the jewel, his hopes of escape were dwindling and disappearing.

With this less than comforting thought, the door opened again on Henery. The man had in his hands a dark purple, almost indigo, straight-cut, martial uniform that seemed to be straight out of the Muggle army. Henery handed it to him and Albus noticed that the material was particularly rough. An hour in it and his delicate skin, which had never seen the slightest aggression, would be ravaged with itching.

“You can change, Albus," Henery said, "so I can take your clothes and put them in your suitcase.”

Albus took the different parts of the uniform and looked around to see where he was supposed to go to change. But neither of the two men pointed anything out to him, they just stared at him without blinking. After a few long seconds, however, Orpheus explained himself.

"You can change in here, Albus, there's nothing wrong with it. Henery and I are men. There should be no awkwardness between men, for there should be no desire.”

Albus swallows laboriously. This sentence in no way took away the immense humiliation that was barely disguised by this order. Slowly, with hands shaking with shame, he began to take off his shirt. He turned around, however, to conceal the essential, and was relieved that he was allowed to do so. He took off his top and put on the shirt before tackling the bottom, so that the low sections of the purple garment would cover what they could. When he tackled his trousers and underwear, he forced himself to be as efficient as possible, and he succeeded relatively well, but he still couldn’t help but remain bright red when he had finished, and enclose the front of his jacket with all his strength, as if to protect himself more from the gaze of others.

"Well, Henery, can you take him to the Canteen?”

“Of course, Mr. Schneiddeger. Will you come with me, Albus? »

Albus did not hesitate to get out of the office, but once outside, he had the distinct impression that he could still feel the director's gaze piercing his back.

The boy followed Henery and together they went up the quirky village, until they reached what seemed to be the central building. It was the largest in terms of floor space, and it was from this building that the shouting could be heard.

“This is what we call the Canteen," Henery told him. “But it's also the place where everyone gathers when there's an event. Whether it's the starting point for a group excursion, a speech by the director, a participatory punishment, a collective prayer, information to share, everything that happens in this center takes place in the Canteen. But you will learn more about the Centre and how it works tomorrow. For now, just join your new friends for lunch, and it will be time to go to bed.”

Albus, anxious about what was waiting for him but relieved to leave Henery for teenagers in the same situation as him, pushed the door.

The only room in the building was of astonishing proportions, much larger than Albus would have thought of as at first glance. The particularly high ceiling offered a vast space that resonated noisily with the rhythm of conversation. In terms of occupants, Albus estimated that there were about a hundred young boys and girls, between the ages of 12 and 20, spread out around seven tables, obviously according to the colour of their uniforms. Albus immediately saw the one that was to be assigned to him. Other teenagers dressed in dark violet were gathered around the most out-of-the-way and isolated table. Not wishing to remain in the middle of the entrance, offered to the vision of all, after his traumatic humiliation in the office, the young man quickly made his way to the table in order to plunge himself at full speed into the anonymity of the mass. However, when he reached his destination and had the opportunity to detail his fellow sufferers more carefully, he noticed that the table seemed to be divided in two. On the right side, dark, with their heads down, a dozen boys and girls were sitting, facing their plates, obviously trying to pass unnoticed. On the other side, a slightly smaller number, consisting only of young men, stood upright, pride and arrogance all over their face. Albus quickly felt all eyes turn to him and it seemed as if they were waiting with great attention to see where the new boy would choose to sit. Knowing that the choice would be crucial to his further socialization among the teenagers, Albus began to think quickly about what these two categories might be, but a voice cut him off:

"Hey, sweetheart. Believe me, you belong here.”

Albus turned to the one who had called him. It was one of the boys on the right side, although this one seemed less dark than the others. Small, thin, cross-legged and in a mannered pose, he seemed rather colorful. His hair was short, obviously recently shaved off, but the way he had shaken his head suggested that he was used to having it much longer. His sentence had been said without mocking and, conversely, an enthusiastic smile and an excited voice suggested that he was looking forward to Albus joining him. The latter hesitated, but as long as he didn't know what he was dealing with, he preferred not to denigrate an invitation. So he went and sat down near the boy, and the second he headed to the right side, he felt a mocking laugh rising from the spectators at the other tables, as well as a few whistles. The boy who had called him offered a gracious finger and a mocking kiss, as Albus came to take refuge at his side.

"Good evening, love! What's your little name?" the boy asked as soon as the conversations resumed.

“Uh... Albus Dumbledore.”

“Well, Albus Dumbledore, welcome to the least sexy prison in history. Let me introduce myself. I'm Alphy, kind of the queen of the faggot's table.”

“Don't call this table that," sighed one girl wearily.

“What? They're allowed to use it and I'm not? I strongly object! If the world decided I'm a faggot, then I'll be a proud one, thank you very much!”

“The real problem," intervened one boy, "is that you call yourself the Queen, when you are clearly nobody's Queen, Alphy. Merely a buffoon.”

“Jealous. All of them! Don't listen to them, Albus. Let me introduce them to you anyway, but don't listen to them. The vocabulary stuck up is Elizabeth, or Eli. She's still disgusted that the discovery of her homosexuality has put an obstacle in the way of the grand life she dreamed of for herself. She's a little uptight, but sometimes she's tolerable.”

“If you could choke to death, Alphy, the world would be a better place.”

“Depends on what I choke on, Eli. It could be my dream death. Whatever. The jealous chief who refuses my dazzling dominance is Alessandro. Pretty hot in a bad-boy kind of way, and the freedom of morals of a hot-blooded Italian! Mamma Mia! He makes me feel all hot and bothered, that boy!”

“One, I hear you. And two, stop using Italian phrases if you can't pronounce them.”

“The very pretty girl there," continued Alphia without taking offense, "the queen of the Center is Lucile la Belle.”

The young lady was indeed beautiful. With long golden hair floating in the air and serene grey iris, she was striking. She had intelligent eyes and a wise smile. Her silhouette had all the attributes a man could desire. When Albus met her gaze, she gave him a welcoming wink.

“She is the Miss Popular of our group," Alphy explained. “Everyone hates us, but everyone loves Lucile. The King of the Center even tries to hit on her. But our Lucile knows how to defend herself and she turns them away with the cruelest gentleness and kindness. I love that girl! Then you have the two cursed lovers, Ellis and Max. They're together, were caught together, but were lucky enough to be sent here together. It's almost la dolce vita here, for them, but they're much more closely watched than the rest of us. After all, they'd rather spend their time with each other than with us, wouldn't they?!”

Mimicking resentment, Alphy threw breadcrumbs at them.

"Fuck you, Alphy.”

“It may not be obvious, but everyone at this table adores me.”

The two lovers in question, with short hair and faces as androgynous as the rest of their body, were in great discussion with each other, in low and excited voices. If they were not dressed in women's uniforms (which, unlike men's military uniforms, consisted of a pleated skirt and a waistcoat with a ribbon around the neck), Albus would have been unable to give them a gender.

“Then," Alphy continued, "he's Federick, or Freddy. Pretty cute in the shy kind of style, the one that doesn't speak a word. Very good at being bullied by others. I mean, more than the average fag. He's actually really sweet. Just terrified.”

Sitting at the end of the table, Frederick, hidden behind blond hair and big glasses, was curled up on his plate, visibly afraid that someone would notice him in any way.

"That girl over there is Modesty. She may look like she's being left out, but she's actually leaving herself out.”

Albus glanced at the girl across from Freddy at the end of the table. It was obvious that she wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and the rest of the group. With her back straight, her face closed, her hair in two tight braids, she seemed to have nothing but contempt for the table she belonged to. And yet Albus could read a deep sadness on her face.

“I almost feel sorry for her," Alphy commented. “She's the only one of us who's here of her own free will. The poor little girl, she hopes to get better. And that concludes our tour of the table. There's still Germinal, who isn't here, she's being punished for I don't know what.”

“She told Mother Marylou that the submissive woman can only make a mediocre man get a hard-on,” explained Alessandro with an amused smile.

“Typical of Germinal. Anyway, you won't see much of her, she's always being punished. Voilà our lovely table!”

Albus gave Alphy a pale and fragile but sincere smile. The people gathered here seemed to him to be quite friendly. Certainly, they seemed to be bickering, but there was a tender and certain complicity. Obviously, they were all in the same boat here. Albus had never met anyone like him before. More likely, he had met some, but never identified them. He was almost eager to learn about each other's life courses, and there were certain things, certain questions that he had been asking himself, that he had never had the opportunity to discuss with anyone. But here, with these people, he felt tacitly more understood and more protected than anywhere else. Maybe they could stand up together and get through it as best they could!

“And what about them?" Albus asked, pointing to the other end of the table. “Why do I get the feeling they don't like us?”

“Because they don't," Alphy explained. “You see that beautiful bright violet uniform, darling? Well that's the identification of our deviancy, namely sexual deviancy. This side of the table, you have people like us. And on the other side... other types of perversions.”

“Rape, incest, pedophilia, name it, you find it in these lovely people.”

Albus watched Elizabeth expecting to see signs of jokes, but he saw none. She was sadly serious.

“I'm sorry I condemned you to that side of the table," Alphy said, "but I think that's where you belong.”

“Sorry? What's to be sorry about? You saved me from a very problematic situation.”

“I don't know about that. By sitting down with us, you've joined the most humiliated and bullied group in the center. At least on the other side of the table, you would've gotten a little more respect.”

“More respected? But they're... they're rapists, aren't they?" Albus asked, lowering his voice.

“Oh, there's no need to whisper," Elizabeth said. “They're very proud of it. Yes, they're rapists, but at least they're not fags. And in this wonderful world, it's better to be them than us.”

“Oh, Eli saying fag! It’s a day to remember!”

Albus looked around, but Alphy, Alessandro and Elizabeth all looked extremely serious. Obviously, he spoke with the conviction of habit. Dumbledore did not dare to look at these men a second time, a few places away from him, and preferred to occupy his attention with the other tables. The nearest one, four meters away, was occupied by young men in apricot orange uniforms.

“What did they do?" Albus asked.

“Them? They're the most harmless people in the center and almost as badly treated as we are. One or two of them have problems with addictive substances, the majority is just there because they are fat.”

“W-what? Because they're... fat? But I thought this facility was supposed to put criminals away?”

“Deviances. And according to their parents, being fat is a deviance. Overeating and all that...”

“But this is stupid! Do they even know that obesity is not always due to diet? That there are a lot of physical and mental disorders that play on weight gain and that cannot be "corrected" by punishment?”

“Do you feel like explaining that to dear Mr. Schneiddeger?”

“But..."

Albus wanted to rise and say that this was deeply unjust, all the more so judging by the absolutely empty plates of the children at the table, some of whom must have barely reached twelve years of age, but he restrained himself from doing so. He sensed that many things were going to be unjust here.

"Those in green are people who have been caught stealing, for the most part. Some for assault, but that's very rare. The yellow ones are also robbery. But apparently not the same kind of robbery. I didn't quite understand the difference, but apparently there is a difference, since they are not even in the same dormitory.”

Albus took a look at the indicated tables. The first one, in emerald green, seemed to be a rather normal table, which could have been easily seen in any teenage institution. They seemed to get along relatively well, and no aggression was apparent, however, their faces were all marked by intense fatigue, which blatantly hollowed out their eyes. The other table, with its lemon-colored uniforms, was one of the least crowded in the Canteen, with only seven teenagers closer to the age of twenty than twelve. They showed none of the signs of fatigue of their neighbor and seemed jovial and boisterous.

“What's this obsession for garish uniforms?" Albus asked.

“I. Love. It!" Alphy exclaimed. “It's the only interesting thing about this Center. They have no sense of morality, but they have a sense of style, at least!”

“It's to see us in the night," Elizabeth said, rolling her eyes. “There are often attempts to escape. But in these clothes, you can see us from very far away, trust me.”

“Anyway, you don't want to go near the red ones. They're nervous ones, those ones. They're here for assault of all kinds, destruction, looting. They even say that there are murderers! It's exciting!”

Albus glanced at the table at the other end. It was one of the two most numerous, with about twenty restless occupants, and it was undoubtedly the noisiest. Next to them, just as numerous but far less noisy, was a tide of azure-coloured uniforms. They sat wisely, chatting in low voices, big books on their knees and ink stains on their hands.

"What have they done?" Albus asked.

“They didn't get the grades that Mom and Dad wanted.”

“You're... you're joking.”

“No, I'm not. I told you. They have a very broad definition of deviance here. And finally, the ones in black, the ones who really belong here, they're the Dark Wizards.”

Albus laid his eyes on the central table. Dressed in deep black uniforms, three girls and two boys were quietly sitting at the table...

Oh.

Albus stopped breathing.

The room was silent. The lights dimmed. The universe cowered in its center.

A boy was sitting at the center of this table. At the center of the world. A boy... a beautiful boy.

Albus felt as if all his breath was leaving him to run to this being who had just revealed himself to his vision.

The boy must have been a little younger. His blond, almost white hair formed an iridescent halo of light around his head. His eyes, one the color of ice and the other the color of darkness, had the obvious ability to make even the most impassive being shiver. His livid skin seemed to be full of radiance and shone like eternal snow, virgin and perfect, untouchable. His lips, however, bright pink and generous, which seemed to twist with the grace of two dancers, pouting and smiling alternatively, offered a spectacle whose astonishing skill did not come close to its sensuality. Finally, the boy's face was singular and unique, yet of timeless and absolute beauty. Formed of angular features, it was framed by two haughty cheekbones, a bold chin, a fine, straight nose, and a broad, proud forehead. The most absolute gentleness and the most frightening severity competed for his face without ever spoiling it, giving him the same look as those tragic poets, spiritual heirs of Chatterton, young and yet so old already. Albus would have liked to extend the metaphor. He would have appealed to the great figures of history to justify this singular beauty that seemed too pretentious to accept an explanation. But he couldn't. He failed to bring any high thought into his mind. All he seemed to be able to do was to put his eyes on those lips so pink, as he could not put his own ones on them.

"Forget it. Right away.”

It was Alphy who had just brought Albus back to reality in a soft, sorry voice.

"What am I forgetting?”

“Him.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“Don't pretend, Albus!” exclaimed Alessandro.

“We're all in the same boat as you,” explained Alphy. “Believe me, every time he makes a gesture, the whole center sighs. But you don't have a chance with him. He'll never be interested in people like us. Lucile has a few graces in his eyes, but Lucile has graces in everyone's eyes. But for you and me, it’s dead before it was even born. You'd better forget about him.”

“Do you know him?”

“Don't you dare go down that road, sweetheart...”

Albus didn't answer, and Alphy finally sighed.

"Fine. His name is Gellert Grindelwald. He's here for acts of Dark Magic. He is the biggest shame of this center, for he has been sent here every summer since it opened, and every year he does the same acts again. We don't really know what he's doing to be here, but it seems to be more sordidness than curiosity. They say he's a great genius, and the most powerful wizard ever. At least according to Freddy, he's clearly the best in Durmstrang. Anyway, he's beloved here. He's truly the King of the Circle, his every wish is fulfilled before he even enunciates it. With the hierarchy, he doesn't get along so well. Gellert is one of the most rebellious, perhaps even more so than Germinal. He's less constantly out of the line, but Germinal's been here for 5 days. Gellert's been holding out for 6 years and he's not weakening. He's taken more beatings that you can know of, and yet he never lets go of his superior smile. It has a way of enraging the supervisors. I love that boy! His only flaw is that he's as straight as a table. And they say he's often cruel.

“He's a Dark Wizard," exclaimed Elizabeth. “It would be good if we didn't forget that.”

“You say that because you don't dream of those pink lips around a certain part of your anatomy absolutely every night, Eli," answered Alessandro.

Albus let the conversation flow all around him, and instead preferred to get lost in that attractive face, just a few meters away from him. He would have wanted to curse himself. He would have wanted to look away. To lecture himself sternly. This was neither the time nor the place for that kind of feeling. If he wanted to survive, he had to repress this type of attraction deep down inside, not succumb to it! That's what he would have wanted to tell himself. But he couldn't. For when that boy was in his field of vision, he immediately took over his mind, leaving no room for Albus to have the painful leisure to think about himself. When he observed this boy, Albus no longer judged himself, no longer regretted anything. After all, to see him is more than enough to understand that desiring Gellert Grindelwald was the most natural thing in the world.

Just as he was thinking this, as if to catch him red handed, the boy suddenly turned his gaze towards him, and their eyes met.

Albus died a little.

And the next second, something heavy, hot and liquid fell on his skull. He suddenly jumped up and realized that someone had poured the contents of his plate over him. He turned around to see one of the students dressed in red, with a disgusted look on his face, still holding the plate in his hand.

"Welcome gift, faggot.”

Albus would have wanted to stand up, to argue, to rebel, but he understood very well what was happening. Trembling with rage and shame, he clenched his hands and teeth. Gellert... Had Gellert seen him?

"Oh, she's not happy, is she? What's she going to do about it? Call her mummy?"

The boy was nearly twice Albus' size and, judging by the scar on his face, he must have been used to fighting. Albus didn't stand a chance. Without magic, he had the physical capabilities of an oyster. He wouldn't even be able to punch someone in the face if his life depended on it. But Gellert was probably watching him. Maybe he had to try! He couldn't just stand there, ridiculous and submissive! He had to show that he was powerful, probably the most powerful wizard of all! Yes. No matter the consequences. He would show to this boy what he was capable of. He would not allow himself to be submissive.

He reached out his hand, ready to gather his magic into a destructive wave when Alphy grabbed his arm.

"Let it go...”

“Let go of me.”

But Alphy didn't. He jumped to his feet and, still grasping him by the arm, he dragged Albus out. Eli came to help him in his task, while Alessandro stood between them and the attacker to allow them to leave. Once outside, Albus lost it all.

"You should have left me! I could have taught him a good lesson!”

“And get send in Orpheus' office on your first day. Believe me, you don't want that. We're just protecting you.”

“If you never fight back, no wonder they spend all their time attacking you!”

“Oh, please!" Eli exclaimed. “Don't make yourself nobler than you are. It wasn't for the cause of the oppressed that you wanted to fight and get rolled over by Emerson. It's just to show yourself in a more favorable light for the sight of a certain boy. And that's stupid. So, you ungrateful brat, don't even bother thanking us for saving you from the whip, or worse! Ah, boys... all the same...”

Eli continued to grumble, but Albus had effectively calmed down. They were right, of course. But he would have wanted so badly... he would have wanted so badly not to get a damn plate of mashed potatoes poured right on his head! What had he done to the universe to accumulate so much in such a short time?

In silence, letting the night calm them down, the three teenagers walked in the dark, following one of the dirt roads in the village. The air was cold, but full of good smells, and the stars were beautiful in the sky. They shone brightly in the middle of the darkness, with pride and arrogance. But Albus now knew that they were far from being the most striking sight in this universe. For while his gaze was lost on these lights from another galaxy, all he could think of were Gellert's strange eyes and the feeling of their weight on his own.

“This is our neighborhood," Alphy said.

“Neighborhood?" Albus asked, tearing himself away from his contemplations. “I thought we'd have a dormitory.”

“The others do, but we're too important and precious for that.”

“The truth," Eli explained, "is that they tried to make a men's dormitory and a women's dormitory for gay men and women, and, surprisingly, they realized it wasn't a brilliant idea.”

“So we get a single room?”

“No," replied Alphy. “They were too afraid we'd have fun on our own. So we're in pairs, with a person of the opposite sex. Of course, any rapprochement is greatly encouraged!”

“They're... trying to get us to have sex with a girl?”

“One can dream!”

“That's what they're trying to do, anyway," Eli said.

“But since we're all friends, it's turning into a sleepover, and that's just as well! The truth is, I kind of like it. It's no substitute for a dormitory full of half-naked men, but I can get over it.”

“You're just saying that because you sleep with Lucile. I'd get over it, too, if I could sleep with Lucile!”

Albus couldn't help sincerely smiling, perhaps for the first time since the beginning of the summer. To hear these two teenagers, who looked so much like him, who could have been him, talk so freely about the deviant way their hearts loved, to laugh about it as if it were the most trivial of things, it was strangely comforting to Albus. And he arrived at the barracks with his chest far too light, and his mind far too foggy.

"Your suite, sir! "Alphy exclaimed with a bow.

Albus entered the room in question. It was a very simple wooden room. Relatively small, it consisted only of a double bed with a thin mattress and a rough blanket, with no pillow visible, and a tiny table in a corner, topped by a jug of clear water and an extinguished candle. Once again, a crucifix was enthroned over the door and was the only decoration. The room was empty, and Albus was too exhausted to wait for anyone. So he decided to change his clothes and leave the day behind him as quickly as possible. Having no pajamas at his disposal, he undressed until he found himself in his underwear and undershirt. He then put his folded clothes on the table, except for his jacket, which he rolled up into a ball to make into pillow. He then climbed onto the bed, which immediately scratched his skin with its low-quality material, but he didn't care and slipped under the blanket. At the end of his strength, he lay down in the darkness of the room. For a moment he hesitated to cry himself to sleep. But, finally, his sad and lost mind escaped and began to wonder what kind of voice could accompany those pink lips.


	3. The first few tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Salut les gens !
> 
> Sorry for the wait, but here's the next chapter. For reasons I know nothing about, translation has been an ordeal! Some time, it's nearly as easy as if it was french, and some other time, each word is a struggle! It was one of those other time. So if you see major, heartbreaking mistakes, or things that really don't make sense, really, don't hesitate to point it out, for I suffered so much on this translation I'm unable to see anything now.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you're still gonna enjoy it. Nothing much happened here, but I needed to set the scenes and the general atmosphere. Those tags are coming, don't worry.

**Chapter 2:**

**The first few tears are the most painful.**

Albus suffered from absurd dreams that night, in a sequence so tangled, so frightening, that he couldn't have put any order or meaning into it. The Centre appeared to him in a flash, intersecting sequences of flight in the forest. The boy with mismatched eyes was present, but he didn't really know if he was running from him, or to him. There was also the director. He laughed, victorious. He was telling him that by confiscating his wand, he had confiscated his heart, too. That whenever this heart would love, he would know, and would punish Albus.

In his dream, he had just arrived at an underground black market, connected to the centre, where he had been told that he could find a hitman capable of destroying his heart. He was about to search his pockets for some Gallions when a sharp, burning pain in his chest wrenched him from sleep. He struggled for a moment between the blankets, unable to guess where he was, plunged into darkness. Finally, with a gasping breath and a throbbing heart, he managed to pull himself out of the sheets, sliding out of bed against the cold floor. Yet he had no time to put his thoughts in order, or even to understand what had just happened to him, that he felt a body hit his own. He found himself lying all the way on his back, a long, cold object against his throat, two bright eyes above his own.

"What the hell are you doing in my room?”

“W-what?!”

“If you think you came here to get laid, you'd better get the hell out of here before I take care of you.”

“B-but... but...”

“Just nod your fucking head if you get it.”

“I didn't come here for anything!” Albus shouted.

He was short of breath, but he wasn't sure whether it was due to fear, or to the blow he had undoubtedly received to his chest.

“I'm sleeping here!" he continued before the person above him had time to reply. “This is my room!”

The two shining eyes wrinkled for a moment and Albus felt the cold object against his throat sink a little deeper. Then finally, in a calmer but much more suspicious voice, the unknown silhouette resumed:

"Your room?”

“Yes! You... you're Germinal, aren't you?”

He remembered the names of each member of the table that had been presented to him. If it had been one of them, he or she would not have attacked him, knowing who he was and why he was there. Germinal had been the only one absent that evening, so there was a good chance that she was the one who had had such a violent reaction. Hearing only silence to answer him, he continued:

"I'm new! I arrived tonight! You weren't there for dinner. It was Alphy who told me that this was my room here too. I didn't see you and I fell asleep before you arrived. But I swear I have no intention in mind other than sleeping!”

Again there was a long silence, and Albus guessed that his assailant must be in the middle of thinking.

"It’s your room?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Oh."

Albus felt relieved as the cold object left his throat and the silhouette straighten up to sit on his belly.

"Well, welcome, then.”

“Er... thank you.”

The silhouette finally stood up and sank into the shadows. Albus straightened himself up, until he sat down on the floor. He massaged his neck for a moment to get rid of the ghostly sensation of the object that had threatened him, and he took the time to concentrate on his breathing until it was back to normal. Meanwhile, he heard a few crackles on his left and finally a candle was lit, revealing the features of the person holding it.

It was a young woman who must have been only slightly younger than Albus. She had a stern, square chin, almost shaved hair and a proud, uncluttered forehead. Her brown eyes gleamed in the reflection of the flame and seemed a little less threatening than a few seconds before.

Hi," she finally said, looking slightly bored.

“H-hello.”

Albus got up and sat down on the bed, gently massaging his chest to dissipate the latent pain.

“You hit me?" he finally resumed indignantly.

“I thought it was someone else.”

“Who else could have been there, lying in bed, sleeping?”

“I didn't see you were sleeping. I thought it was one of the assholes sent by Scheiddeger.”

“Sent by Scheiddeger?”

Germinal, as Albus guessed, put the candle on the table and began to help herself to a glass of water.

"It is not he who sends them directly, but it is because of him.”

The young woman finished her drink in one go and put it down again. She then leaned against the table, facing Albus, and began to undo the knot of her purple ribbon.

"Being caught in someone else's bed gives you a direct pass to Scheiddeger's office. But there's a little tolerance if you're a guy and you're in a dyke's bed. After all, you have to teach us about life, don't you?”

Albus crossed his legs and tightened them against his chest. He felt an insidious but burning fear creeping into his belly as he found it harder and harder to breathe. Until now he had tried not to think too much about the "methods" of this centre, but now he was finding it increasingly difficult to ignore the warning signs all around him. And the question for him was no longer when he was going to get out, but whether he was going to get out at all.

Germinal must have seen the silent distress of her new roommate, as her face softened slightly from exhaustion. She resumed in a lighter, more reassuring tone.

"The good thing is that now that you're here, the risks are lessen. They don't want to go near gay men. It's endangering their manhood, you understand? Poor darlings.”

Germinal offered him a mocking smile which he shyly shared, and began to take off her pleated skirt and shirt. Coyly Albus looked away, but the girl didn't seem the least bit annoyed by his presence as she climbed up the bed beside him.

"Well, I would have loved to get to know you, but I'm exhausted. If you want to talk, do it alone.”

“Theoretically, it was you who woke me up. I was silent before you started hitting me.”

The young woman laughed a little, and lay down on her stomach and sighed. Only when she had breathed out all of the air in her lungs did she mumble between her lips.

"The candle! I forgot to blow it out!”

She turned her head and blew a good blow, but it was far too far from the flame to have any effect on it.

“Well, you're going," she finally announced.

Albus could have said that he was not the one who light it on in the first place, but if he could avoid any kind of conflict, all would be better for it. So he got up obediently and went to blow out the candle. However, as he walked around the bed, a strange vision from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He immediately turned towards Germinal:

"What is... what is this?”

“What is what?" the young woman grumbled, her face sunken in the makeshift pillow she had just stolen from Albus.

“Y-your back!”

Albus approached her, horrified. Long dark traces ran across the surface of her back. The skin, blackened with bruises in places, was swollen and blistered, thin but long tears were visible, covered with dried blood. Deep whip marks ploughed the thin, white back. Stunned, stomach turned over, Albus crouched down beside the bed, helpless in the face of such a sight.

“What happened?" he asked.

“Nothing much. I told two or three simple facts to Mother Marylou, and Scheiddeger didn’t like it. Oh, don't look so horrified, it will happen to you too one day or another.”

Again Albus felt this strange feeling of heaviness in his chest as he struggled to breathe. What was he doing here? Just seeing this sight of devastated skin, he could almost already feel the invisible pain in his back. The flesh cracking and tearing. The scathing sound of the whip almost as destructive as the blow itself. He couldn't go through that. He couldn't make it. It just wasn't possible. The more these thoughts swirled around in his skull, the more he found himself unable to even breathe, so suffocated were his lungs, unable to take even the slightest breath of air. He was going to die here. He knew it. He was alone, and no one was ever going to know that he was going to die here.

"Hey... hey man, are you ok?"

Albus was totally unable to answer. He didn't have enough air anyway, and not enough words. The young woman must have realized that something was wrong, because she stood up, put on Albus' jacket to hide her back, and crouched down beside him, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"You've been here for three hours, you're not going to start panicking already, are you? Just take a deep breath, okay?”

Albus wanted to answer but nothing came to him. The suffocating anguish he felt was all that occupied his mind, and every inspiration was too precious and too rare to be wasted in this way. He was gasping for air, and he was beginning to feel dizzy, although this was low on his list of concerns. The only thing he could see through his darkened vision was what was waiting for him in that centre.

"Hey, what's your name?” Try to tell me your name.

“A-Albus...”

“Albus ?”

He nodded his head, trembling, and Germinal gave him a smile. It was obvious from her face that she was not used to taking on such a role, and that she was a bit awkward in her attentions, but she was clearly doing her best to reassure her new roommate.

"Albus, focus on your breathing, okay? Just this. Everything else will wait. Just your breathing.”

She took the young man's icy hand and placed it on her chest.

"Try to follow me. Breathe like me.”

Albus felt his icy hand trembling violently in Germinal’s warm ones, but he tried his best to do what he was asked. He closed his eyes and focused on the breathing he could feel against his palm, ignoring everything else, the disturbing shadows, the latent anxieties, the oppressive threats. Slowly he began to feel his breathing calming down and his muscles relaxing. Germinal, with a patience he would not have originally assumed of her, did not breathe a word, only accompanying the gradual return of his calm. Finally, after several long minutes, Albus was finally able to regain control of himself. He brought his hand back to himself and offered a pale smile to his new roommate, even though the devouring anguish was still in the pit of his stomach.

“Thank you," he breathed at last, his eyes downcast, a little ashamed of his sudden panic.

“You're not very brave, are you?”

Clearly, Germinal had reached the limit of her abilities, in terms of empathy and kindness, and she got up quickly, heading for the water carafe to serve them a drink.

"I... I guess not. I never imagined that I would ever need to face... this kind of thing. I'm usually good at staying out of trouble.”

“Here it's going to be complicated.”

Germinal returned to the bed on which she sat, after handing Albus one of the two glasses filled to the brim. The latter grasped it between his still trembling fingers and carefully carried it to his lips. The fresh water did him unsuspected good as he seemed to be boiling from the inside. Still sitting on the floor, he rested his exhausted back against the wooden wall and closed his eyes, pale and weary. But the second his eyelids covered his pupil, visions of tortured flesh and Scheiddeger's benevolent smile immediately assaulted him.

“Is it possible to avoid this?" he finally asked in a white voice. “I mean, if we do absolutely everything that is expected of us, we can go through the whole summer without receiving a single... punishment?”

“That depends," Germinal replied pensively. “Are you planning to become straight in the next few hours?”

Albus answered nothing but felt even more defeated, if that was possible. Germinal seemed to see it and, with a sigh, she slipped to the floor beside him, resting her head against the wall and staring at the ceiling.

"You know, you shouldn't worry too much. I'm really asking for trouble. But if you keep quiet, and pretend to make an effort, you should be able to get through it without too much shit.”

“Maybe I should make a sincere effort...”

After all, if he had been like the other boys, he wouldn't be here in the first place. He wasn't stupid, he knew that being what he was was not immoral. But his life would have been much simpler if it had been otherwise. And if there was the slightest chance that he could tear that part of himself away from him...

“I strongly advise against it," Germinal said in the playful tone of the most anecdotal conversation.

“Why not?”

“Because if you try to do that, you'll break yourself up irreversibly and the suffering you experience in this centre will be nothing compared to all the suffering you'll experience outside.”

Albus turned to Germinal, her words resonating painfully within him. The young woman had a slight cordial smile that seemed particularly out of place in relation to what she had just said. But she didn't seem to doubt her own words for a moment. Finally, she tapped the young man's shoulder in a friendly manner and stood up.

"Well, that's not all, but I'd like to sleep now. I have other things to do than hold your hand.”

“Don't you want me to do something about your back?”

Germinal, who had gone to the candle to blow it out, turned to Albus, barely looking at him as if what he had just said was particularly silly.

"You mean faint?”

“No, you know what I mean.”

“It is forbidden to heal the wounds of punishment. Scheiddeger thinks that the lesson will not stay in our mind well enough otherwise.”

“He doesn't have to know... He can't guess whether you're in pain or not.”

“No, but the second you do magic he will know it.”

“I don't need to do magic. »

Germinal squinted her eyes, but Albus just shrugged his shoulders, a little more relaxed than a few minutes earlier. Although he was in a terrifying situation, far from everything he knew, he still had his sharp mind for him, and his vast and varied knowledge. He had to remember that he wasn't really unarmed, even here.

"I can prepare an ointment for you, if you want. It will speed up the healing process, but more importantly, it will make the pain go away completely.”

“There are no magic plants around here.”

“No, but there are normal plants.”

Germinal didn't seem to understand, and Albus straightened himself up after giving her the kind, patient smile he used to give his classmates when they asked him for help with a paper.

"In the days when Wizards and Muggles lived together, it was not uncommon for the village wizard to have to make do with what the Muggles had to offer in terms of resources. Especially since many healers were not herbologist. If we look at the ancient recipes for potions and ointments, we see that it is possible to do a lot of things, even with the most basic plants. Of course, you need a solid knowledge of the history of magic for this, because these principles are no longer taught today, especially now that we also live separated from each other.”

“he History of Magic? Are you from Hogwarts?”

“Yes, I am. But in reality, the name of the class is particularly unfitting. It's actually about the history of wizardkind. When I talk about the history of magic, I'm talking more about the history of the practice of magic. And this confusion of terminology contributes greatly to a dissension of...”

“Sorry.”

“F-for what?”

“For asking.”

Albus was silent but did not care. To tell the truth, after years of having a scatterbrained Quidditch player as his best friend, he was used to this kind of behaviour. He was able to accept that not everyone he talked to could grasp the captivating nature of his words and his knowledge. Germinal was not interested in the terminological conflict over the name History of Magic? Well, it was her loss, after all. Albus could only feel deep empathy for her.

"So, will you give me two minutes to prepare something?”

Germinal’s eyes judged him for a moment, then finally she shrugged her shoulders with disinterest. Albus didn't waste a second and went outside. He was still in his undershirt, but he wouldn't be out for long. He had seen some basic plants around the buildings earlier in the evening and knew he wouldn't have to look far. A few flowers growing between the warped planks of wood, the moss of a tree yellowed by the summer, a berry or two in a bush lining the room, and he had everything he needed. Less than two minutes later he entered the small room he shared with the young woman, without having met anyone outside. Germinal sat patiently on the bed, her defiant face clearly showing how little confidence she had in her roommate.

“Wizards greatly underestimate the benefits of lavender," Albus began as soon as he closed the door behind him. “Under the pretext that it is known to the Muggles, they consider it has no property. But it is often forgotten that it is of the Lamiaceae family and therefore shares many common ancestors with the Dictame. Some of their genes could even be considered as...”

“Albus, I have an idea. Why don't you tell me about it when I'm actually interested.”

Albus was content to smile at Germinal, much more confident and serene, now that he was in his element. He walked over to the small table and began to mix the plants, blending them into the clear water of the carafe, under the flickering light of the candle. His gestures were precise and assured, knowing perfectly well the procedure to follow even though he was improvising according to the resources he had collected. But all forms of magic were music for Albus, and he could compose new pieces as naturally as he could play familiar tunes. It took him five minutes of intense mixing before he finally found himself with a glass filled with a healing ointment. He then approached the bed and sat down next to Germinal, showing her the thick greenish-coloured liquid.

"It's not very engaging...”

“Yes, it is! I even put a few mulberries in for the smell!”

He brought the glass close to the young woman's nose, but she immediately pushed it away, rolling her eyes.

“It should cleanse, heal and anaesthetize," Albus resumed. “I've added a few leaves for their absorbent properties, so your skin should completely soak it up, there won't be any trace left. And no evidence.”

“You don't seem to be totally useless... but I'm waiting for results before judging.”

“Can you show me your back?”

“Can you stand the sight?”

Albus lowered his eyes, a little ashamed of his past reaction, but he nodded his head. He now had a much more distant and surgical view of the situation. He was in a position of power, he knew what he was doing, so he had no reason to panic. Germinal stared at him for a moment, probably to test his newly found courage, then she took off the jacket she had taken from him before turning around. Once again Albus was able to observe the dreadful state of the whipped back, but this time he felt much more anger than fear. He was not helpless. He could fight back.

He confidently collected a small amount of ointment from the tip of his finger and began to spread it gently over the reddish, swollen wounds. Germinal let out a few smothered complaints at first, but soon the anesthetic properties of the ointment took effect, and she didn't feel a thing. Albus, however, continued to spread the balm carefully and gently, starting first with her shoulders and then moving down.

"How is it?” he asked without losing his focus. “When you get punished.”

“It depends. They have a lot of imagination about punishments, I've been told. I've only been here since the beginning of the summer so I don't know everything. But I've heard things.”

Slowly, Albus traces the contour of a wound in the lumbar region, letting the ointment impregnate the skin and make it insensitive before attacking the heart of the tear.

"What did you hear?”

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes, I'm sure.”

Albus finally ran his fingers over the slightly open wound, but Germinal didn't seem to feel it. She barely shivered.

"Deprivation is commonplace. So common that no one really notices them anymore. So they escalate quickly. Corporal punishment is the most common form. Sometimes they aim to break us through pain, sometimes through humiliation. I heard that last year a girl died under the whip. A gay girl, like us. Alphy said you couldn't even see the skin anymore, it was so torn. I also heard they let some kid spank a dark wizard, the ones in black, in front of everyone, to try and break his pride. That didn't really hurt him, physically, but Alphy said he changed drastically after that. And he wasn't there this year, so Scheiddeger said he must have changed his ways. But Freddy - he was his classmate - told us that he is nearly catatonic, now. He lost so must confidence, he is nearly unable to do magic and he has been expelled from Durmstrang.

"And there are the other forms of punishment. They can worsen everything by doing it publicly or making other people participate. They can also try other, more creative, ways. For example, two years ago, they caught Alphy with a hard-on, during his sleep. They forced him, the next morning, to share the dream he had in front of the whole canteen. Well... I guess it's supposed to be humiliating and make us ashamed of ourselves. But it's Alphy. He enjoyed sharing every single detail so, it didn't work so well. But on people like Freddy, or Modesty, or you, I guess that can be quite traumatizing.

"And there are other things. I know they are there, but I don't know what they truly are. Even Alphy doesn't want to talk about them. I asked Alessandro, Freddy and Lucile, who were all there before, but none of them answered. That seemed to be a pretty big deal. I think... I think they did things to them. Things supposed to disgust them from their sexuality. I don't want to talk about things I don't know about... But that seemed to be serious. And horrible. And repetitive."

Albus finished spreading one last knob of ointment, and his fingers stopped at the bottom of Germinal's back. The traces disappeared under the fabric of her underwear, but he didn't go any further, the young woman's words echoing in his ears.

"I will take care of the rest." said Germinal.

Without a word, Albus handed her the glass and turned around, taking a few steps towards the door in a vain attempt to clear his mind. Instead of the anguish of earlier, a terrible emptiness had settled in him, a black and wide, indefinable mass, as he wondered what fate had in store for him. This question was running through his head, but no answer dared to form. And it was surely better that way.

“Do you want me to tell you the bright side?" asked Germinal, behind his back.

“I'd like that, indeed...”

“We don't have to do arithmantic exercises, like those poor souls who are there for their grades...”

“I wish I could, though. I wish I could.”

Germinal let out in a heart-rending sigh worthy of the greatest classical tragedies.

“You really are a very sad individual," she exclaimed.

“The sad individual is the one who made you the ointment.”

“Yes, that's a marvellous thing.”

Albus heard Germinal put the now empty glass on their only small table, and he turned towards her as she climbed back up the bed to slip under the rough blankets.

"I can't feel anything at all. You're really good at making ointments.”

“One skill among many others.”

He approached in turn to return to bed. Once settled, he tried to use his jacket as a pillow, but Germinal tore it from his hands and put her own head on it.

“But..." Albus began.

“Hush, it's mine now. »

Albus wanted to protest, but he knew it was useless.

"Did you learn that at Hogwarts?”

“No, not really. Mostly in my spare time...”

“Really?”

She stared at him for a moment, frowning and doubting. Then, suddenly, what seemed to be a flash of realisation crossed her gaze.

"Albus, as in Albus Dumbledore?”

“Do you know me?”

“No, but I've read you! You've published a lot of things about Alchemy, in a few French monthly magazines! You're the one who works with Flamel, aren't you? Last year I read your essay on the case study of the Thestrals to explain the influence of traumas on an individual's magical abilities. It was fascinating!”

“Thank you very much... "

Albus, who had never been spared a proudly developed ego, had always taken great pleasure in the various compliments that could be paid to his writings and research. But today, everything seemed so far away, so inaccessible, that he had the impression that another man was being praised.

Germinal, for her part, visibly free of all pain, turned on her back and observed the shadows of the ceiling with a sleepy look.

"If I had known I was sharing a room with a celebrity... Albus Dumbledore... What could have happened to make you end up here?”

* * *

* * *

The morning passed in a foggy and dull mist for Albus. He was awakened at sunrise by an old woman, dressed in a black and austere religious dress, who did not thought kindness was of any use to bring them out of sleep. Judging by the latent aggressiveness she expressed towards a particularly surly Germinal, the young man guessed that it must perhaps have been Mother Marylou. Not wanting to alienate anyone, let alone after the discussion he had had the evening before, Dumbledore got up quickly and took the change that the old matron was handing him. He dressed quickly and then went out into the fresh air, accompanied by Germinal.

They walked together in the direction that seemed to be taken by all the other children, all of whom were in more or less advanced stages of awakening, and they went up the village, towards the northern part, to a building almost next to the wooden palisade. The latter, on a single floor, was relatively large, though not as large as the canteen. The wood was darker than elsewhere, and no stilts were visible, making the building one of the lowest of what Albus had now seen.

“These are the showers," explained Germinal. “Don't get too excited, the water is freezing. It builds character, as I’ve been told.”

“It will certainly not be the worst of my experiences here.”

Albus began to move towards the building after Germinal, but she stopped him immediately.

“No," she said. “I'm going, but I advise you to wait.”

“Why should I wait?”

“They are shared. The men's part is not very welcoming, according to the boys. Usually Alphy, Alessandro and Freddy go together, to avoid being picked on. Maybe you'd better wait for them.”

Albus, suddenly exhausted, closed his eyes and gently massaged his temples.

“Is every moment here going to be a struggle?" he asked, sighing painfully.

“Uuuuuuuuuuh... Yes. "

And with that last word, Germinal disappeared into the building. Albus took a few steps to the side, so as not to stay in the way, and leaned against one of the trees that lined the muddy path leading up to the showers. As he waited, he could see a few cruel and amused grins on the faces lturning towards him, and he couldn't help but mentally thank Germinal for her advice. The minutes passed away, in the cool morning air, as the sun rose lazily on the horizon. Albus was contemplating returning to the barracks to find his three comrades of unfortune, when a sudden appearance distracted him from any coherent thought.

The door of the building in front of which he was waiting opened, and a silhouette that he had seen little of but knew by heart emerged from it. With a towel on his shoulder, his platinum hair glistening with water and his white skin reflecting the summer sun, the _boy_ had just emerged from the showers. He was alone - after all, the dark wizard probably didn't need any protectors to go and wash himself - but even if he had been surrounded, Albus wasn't sure he would have been able to notice. The young man dressed in black, with that characteristic face which, even devoid of any expression, was still insolent, passed Albus without seeming to notice him. However, as he was about to overtake him, for half a second, these impossibly strange and disturbing eyes came to rest on Dumbledore, and the latter, in that single half-second, felt more foolish and ridiculous than he had ever felt in his whole miserable life, felt more naked than he had been in front of Schneiddeger and Henery, the day before.

"Did you wait for us? Cool!”

That startled a terrified Albus as the voice echoed next to him. He turned around and saw Alphy, with a broad smile on his lips, give him a slight wave of her hand. Trying to find his heart that had jumped out of his chest, Dumbledore turned back towards the path again, but Gellert had passed them, and only his back was still moving away.

"you don’t say hello?"

The young man, still preoccupied and furious that he had failed to dazzle during the most important half-second of his life, turned to Alphy. Freddy was there, too, hiding in his friend's shadow, and Alessandro, a little further on, was already heading towards the showers.

“Good morning, Alphy!" Albus said emphatically. “I hope that you are having a pleasant start to the day and that you are in the right frame of mind to face what fate has in store for you today.”

“Well, that's better.”

“Are you coming or not?” asked Alessandro already at the door.

The three boys quickly joined him and entered the building.

They had just arrived in an entrance hall cluttered with large bins filled to the brim with thick white towels. Imitating his friends, Albus grabbed one of them and walked towards one of the two doors. Immediately the characteristic smell of dampness and cheap soap greeted him as he discovered the new space. It was a large rectangular room, whose stone floor contrasted with the rest of the village. It was divided into two areas, separated by a simple screen. The first part, where they were located, must have constituted less than a quarter of the total surface area, and there were a few benches covered with clothes left behind pell-mell. In the second part Albus could not see it, but from the characteristic sounds of water and jets, it must have been the showers themselves.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dumbledore saw his three friends begin to undress quickly and he did the same. He had never been very comfortable with this kind of thing, not being able to stand nudity, or even simple proximity, but he suspected that he would have to get used to it rather quickly. So he did not complain and hurried to put his clothes on the bench. When he had finished, Alessandro approached and, taking Albus' towel, laid it on top of the pile of his things.

"If they see purple here, you can be sure that you won't find your clothes when you’ll get out.”

Albus thanked him with a nod and the four boys walked around the screen. The new space had nothing to offer to the eye. It was a stone rectangle, with showers hanging on the wall and soaps all over the floor. There were many young boys and young men here, so the place seemed almost crowded.

“Okay, boys," Alphy whispered so that only they could hear. “We all keep the mantra in mind: quick and efficient. And don't let your eyes wander over anyone.”

“Now you speak for yourself, Alphy.”

And with these words, Alphy, Alessandro and Freddy slipped into the showers, hogging the knob they then shared. Albus joined them, standing strategically between them and the wall. He then took one of the pieces of soap from the floor, quickly cleaned it under water and passed it to Alphy. The four young men quickly washed themselves and left the cluttered space in less than five minutes without being noticed by anyone. It was with relief that Albus found his towel and wrapped himself in it.

“It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," he remarked as he went through the complex exercise of getting dressed without removing his towel.

“Today, yes indeed. But believe me, it's not going to be every day like that.”

“More importantly," Alessandro said in a serious voice, "don't go alone.”

“And not when there are many people,” Freddy continued, his face dark and lowered.

Albus looked at the three boys in front of him one after the other and could not help but be concerned by the seriousness of their expressions.

"All right. I'll be careful. Thank you.”

The breakfast that followed went without any incident. No one poured mashed potatoes on him, which was a good thing, Albus thought. The mealtime itself was not so bad. Apparently, the event of the day before was a welcome gift, but the rest of the time Dumbledore was entitled to expect a semblance of peace, according to Alphy. The food was relatively good, the company very pleasant, and the view stunning - although Eli would elbow him mercilessly whenever his gaze lingered on the table of the Dark wizards. He could have been annoyed by such behaviour, but the truth was that Albus was grateful to her for it. He knew that he was playing a very dangerous game, and the sooner he got this strange boy out of his mind, the better off he would be.

When the meal was over, each table group got up and left the canteen to disperse throughout the village. Albus, a little lost, followed the familiar faces, while standing slightly apart from the other young men in purple uniforms whom have been described so menacingly to him. The small group went to one of the smaller buildings surrounding the canteen. It was a single room, furnished with simple wooden chairs, all facing the back wall. In the middle of it, a muggle opaque projector stood enthroned and, right next to it, a cheap Pensieve, judging by the too pale colour of the liquid it contained. No one seemed surprised by this duo of objects as each of the young men and women lined up against the back wall. Marylou then entered and positioned herself with authority above the Pensieve, staring at the children in front of her with an uncompromising face.

“Well?" she said after a moment. “What are we waiting for?”

One of the young men began to approach, while Alphy came a bit closer to Albus.

“This is a Pensieve," he whispered quietly. “It's a way of seeing people's memories. Every morning we have to put our memories of our dreams into the recipient, and this dear Mother Superior checks them quickly. If there is something 'unnatural' we are sent to Scheiddeger. If not, we have the immense privilege of being able to stay here.”

Albus watched for a moment as Marylou coldly took one of the memories from the head of the man in front of her and scornfully released it into the Pensieve. The process was revolting in the obvious intrusion it represented, and the relatively limited control one could have over one's dreams, but Dumbledore was not worried. He was an accomplished legilimens, and it was no problem at all for him to transform his memories in a fraction of a second without anyone being able to see the deception. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel a touch of revolt when he saw Max being sent to the so scary Scheiddeger for dreaming about their friend Ellis. Because the dreams were indeed in everyone's sight and judgment. When it came to Albus' turn, he was content to offer flashes of forests and races, which interested no one, not even himself. He could then go and sit between Eli and Alphy. In the end, four people were sent to the director, but Albus didn't know any of them except for Max.

When they were all settled, Marylou passed among them and handed each of them a glass filled with a dark, odourless liquid. Albus tried to identify it, but in vain, and the Mother Superior immediately threatened him with severe punishment if he did not swallow the contents of the cup. So, he did as he was told, and was surprised to discover a sweet and discreet taste. He turned to Alphy to ask him about it all, but did not have time to get any answer. The curtains of the room were drawn, and they found themselves in the dark. A few seconds later, the projector was lit on and the silence became even more absolute.

The photo, projected on the back wall, was nothing special. It showed two men discussing, in a smoky study, a bottle of whisky on the table between them. Both were wearing dark suits and the discussion seemed cordial. Before Albus had time to wonder more about the reason for all this, the picture changed. This time three women could be seen, of three different ages. The first one, very old, with a wrinkled face and damaged hands, was sitting on a high-backed chair and seemed to be bending long white cloths on her lap. The second, barely in her thirties, was standing over the third woman - a girl, rather, just about ten years old - and seemed to be readjusting the ribbons of her hat.

A third photo then took the place of the previous one. This one too was nothing special, one could simply see two men on a bench, in the middle of a relatively small and most charming park. Once again, Albus was struggling to understand why he was seeing that, but a strange feeling distracted him from these questions. Indeed, he could feel a growing heat in his lower abdomen, which was taking up more and more space to the point of becoming annoying. But when the fourth photo appeared, the sensation disappeared. Albus raised his head to see what was being projected, and he could see a traditional family photo, similar to the one in his living room, with a mother in the middle, on an armchair, a father behind her with his hands on her shoulders, and two children obediently beside them.

The photo that followed erased this one, and Albus could see two slender women facing each other in a fencing duel. He detailed the photo for a moment, but was unsettled by the very slight growling he could hear around him. He turned away from the photo and saw Eli, next to him, turning around in her chair, visibly uncomfortable. He was about to ask her if everything was all right when the picture changed. It was now two men, walking side by side, arm in arm, in a Parisian street. Immediately Albus felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen and couldn't stop a complaint from escaping his lips. The heat he had felt earlier had returned with much more force and the burn it offered was now painful. Dumbledore, with clenched teeth, was about to ask to be excused when the picture changed, and the pain disappeared.

Slowly catching his breath, Albus looked up. He could now see two women, embracing, sitting on a bench, in the chic atmosphere of what seemed to be a private club. This did not provoke anything in him, but he distinctly heard Eli moaning next to him and Lucile's silhouette, which he could see in front of him, suddenly twisting. He was slowly beginning to understand what was going on, and the new photo proved him right.

No sooner had he seen the man's charming face than he felt the sharp pain again, like a stab tearing at his lower abdomen. Breathless, unable to make a sound, Albus opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to react, his muscles tetanized by the shock of the pain. Burning tears began to form in the corner of his eyes, but before they fell, the picture changed to a portrait of a sublime young woman with an angelic smile.

Ignoring the painful hiccups of the few girls in the room, Albus was finally able to breathe again. He took a deep, laboured breath as he managed to get back up on his chair. Soon, however, he saw that the characteristic warmth in his lower abdomen was returning. But this time there was nothing painful or frightening about it. On the contrary, rarely had Albus felt anything so pleasant and pleasurable. He forced his eyes to detail the young woman's face, and the more he looked at that charming smile, the more this delicious sensation spread to his lower abdomen. However, so quickly that he almost protested, the image of the woman disappeared to be replaced by the body of a naked man posing in front of a painter. And the heat in Albus' belly became white-hot metal, and Albus cried out in pain.

He was not alone. He knew Alphy was sobbing beside him, but he didn't care. The pain was so intense that it obscured his vision as he slid down to the floor, unable to know where the top and bottom were now. His body couldn't bear his weight any more, and he only wanted to open his belly with his nails to tear out this unbearable pain.

The photo changed again, and the burn became warmness again. An intense and irrepressible desire, which had nothing emotional and nothing psychological, but everything physical, was spreading again in Albus as the image of a naked woman, lustfully lying on a bed, was projected before him. But he didn't care. He couldn't see anything anymore. Nothing really meant anything to him anymore. He was on the ground, his eyes dripping with tears, his hands clenched to his belly, his muscles tetanized. One photo after another, the minute passed. He no longer knew what any of them could represent. He didn't really know when he was in deep agonizing pain and when he wasn’t. All he knew was that one eternity later, in the last picture, which represented a naked man kneeling behind another, buried deep inside him, a striking image that Albus, who knew nothing about such things, who knew nothing about his own desires, might have found life-changing, this image, he saw nothing of it. And all he felt was the intense conviction that he was dying.

The curtains opened; the sun came into the room. But Albus huddled up and didn't move. He couldn't believe that it was all over, and waited anxiously for the next pain, unable to comprehend what had just happened. He felt Alphy's sweaty, anxious hands around his shoulders, trying to help him up, but he himself was shaking too much for that. However, Alphy insisted vehemently, lifting Dumbledore to his feet himself, at the exact moment when the Mother Superior was about to walk towards the prostrate young man.

She was visibly not moved by the sight of the livid and lost boy, for, after judging him for a few moments, she gave him a scathing slap that echoed against the walls of the room.

"Real men don't cry.”

Albus answered nothing. He had barely felt that slap. However, he was too afraid of what he had just gone through to say anything back. He just stared at the wall in front of him, his throat tied.

"You're the new admission?”

“Yes," Albus replied in a white, absent voice, far away from the conversation.

“You will address me as Mother Marylou.”

“Yes, Mother Marylou.”

She seemed satisfied with the young man's obvious docility, but continued in an equally stern tone.

"Is this exercise curing you of your perverted behaviour?”

“Yes, Mother Marylou.”

“As you should wish it does. For if it were to prove ineffective, we would be forced to come to less traditional and less pleasant methods.”


End file.
